Chapter 27
CHAPTER
It had been a long time since Ferne had pampered herself for a man.
On the farm, she wore jeans and T-shirts with a flannie in winter, and only wore makeup and styled her hair when she went into town to catch up with friends, volunteer or attend CWA meetings.
She could’ve walked around in a hessian sack and Mac wouldn’t have noticed.
When had she become invisible in her marriage?
After discovering Jesse’s existence and the truth about Mac’s sexuality, she’d racked her brains to remember when her husband had started frequenting Melbourne.
From her recollection, it had been happening during her pregnancy.
Mac also headed off for weekends locally, meeting with fellow growers. Or so he said.
But he’d stopped touching her not long after Cruz’s birth, so she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d had a boyfriend closer to home before Jesse.
Not that he’d risk a liaison with anyone in Rosevale Grove, but there were a lot of towns on the border and beyond, and Mac could’ve had a man in every place for all she knew.
She hated being so clueless. Had Mac laughed behind her back at her gullibility? Had he taken pleasure in fooling her? She hadn’t thought of him as mean as much as emotionally frigid, but considering what he’d been doing in secret for years, who knew?
The sheer relief following his death had been palpable, but not a day went by when she didn’t wish she could confront him and ask why the hell he’d lived a double life when they could’ve split and each had a real chance at happiness.
Hating that she’d allowed intrusive thoughts about Mac taint the evening ahead, she whisked a mascara wand over her lashes before slicking a budge-proof pink gloss over her lips.
The neutral pink had been her go-to colour for years, flattering without looking like she was trying too hard, though she’d never had to put the stayingpower promise to the test.
Tonight, she intended to change that.
She stared at herself in the mirror, wondering how the hell she’d reached seventy.
Her auburn hair with liberal streaks of grey skimmed her shoulders, and religious use of high-factor sunscreen had ensured her wrinkles weren’t too deep.
Some of the CWA ladies said she looked like Susan Sarandon, which she took as a compliment, considering the actress looked incredible for her age.
But what would Taj see when he looked at her now?
Would he see the crepe-like texture of the skin beneath her eyes and the way her jowls sagged?
Would he see the lines ringing her neck like an ancient tree, each one testament to a decade of pain?
Would he see beneath the shadows in her eyes and wonder what she’d been hiding since Mac died?
She hoped he saw none of that, because she wanted tonight to be the start of her new life. With her trip to New Zealand postponed, perhaps she could spend her time reliving pleasant memories and creating new ones?
She wore her favourite dress, a black maxi covered in a royal blue geometrical pattern, and wondered if Taj would remember the significance.
The buzzer for the building’s front doors pinged on her phone and she tapped the app to let Taj in.
More confident in the walking boot, she propped the crutches against the bedroom wall and hobbled into the living room.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door, not surprised when all the air whooshed out of her lungs.
She’d never cared what Taj wore, but when he dressed up—wow. Navy pants and shirt with a beige sports jacket accentuated his height and when their gazes locked, she felt the zap all the way down to her toes.
‘I love that dress on you,’ he said, and she sighed.
Of course he remembered. She’d been wearing it the day she’d farewelled him on the farm, the day she’d almost left her life behind to follow him wherever. The day she’d chosen responsible motherhood—to stay with Mac for the sake of preserving Cruz’s legacy—over her heart.
The day she still regretted.
‘Thanks, it’s my favourite.’
‘Do you still like Thai food?’
‘Love it.’
He didn’t have any takeaway bags, so she assumed he’d organised a delivery, but when he said, ‘Good,’ and stepped out of view, she peered out of her door to see him hefting a bag filled with groceries.
‘I’m cooking you my famous red curry dumpling soup,’ he said with a grin. ‘So go put your feet up and dinner will be ready in a jiffy.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, aware that the last man who had cooked for her—besides Cruz—had been Taj when they’d dated over forty years earlier. ‘I see you’ve expanded your repertoire beyond stir fry and nachos?’
He laughed as he searched cupboards for a pot. ‘You’d be surprised what I’ve learned over the last few decades.’
It didn’t sound like innuendo, but she blushed nonetheless, wondering if they’d still be physically compatible. The sex with Taj back then had been memorable. He always took his time and pleasured her first. She’d missed their connection when they broke up.
Ferne propped her leg up on the couch and relished the view: Taj moving around the kitchen with confidence; splashing oil into a wide-bottom pan; sautéing red Thai curry paste; adding coconut milk and chicken stock before placing soup dumplings and bok choy in the mix.
‘That smells amazing,’ she said, salivating a little—for the soup, and the man making it.
‘It’s my go-to speedy meal when I’m hungry. Easy to prepare, hearty, with leftovers guaranteed when I cook it for one.’
‘How often do you cook it for two?’
Damn, the question popped out before she could censor it.
He’d already told her he was single, but that didn’t stop her curiosity.
When they’d dated, he’d told her he’d never marry, and that had been part of the reason why she’d ended it.
And when he’d been a picker on the farm, they hadn’t had time to discuss their respective lives because their one brief interlude had been more about planning for a potential future than discussing the past. But had he married?
Been engaged? Had a relationship that lasted longer than their incredible fourteen months?
‘Fer, I’m sixty-four, so if you’re asking if there’ve been significant others over the decades since we dated, then yes. I’m not a monk.’
She grimaced. ‘Sorry, it’s none of my business.’
‘I’m happy to discuss what I’ve been up to, but I’d prefer not to do it on an empty stomach.’ He pulled a wine bottle out of the grocery bag. ‘Fancy a pinot?’
‘I’d love one.’
Another thing he remembered apart from her dress: her favourite wine.
‘The soup will be ready in ten minutes, once the dumplings are steamed through.’ He poured wine into two glasses and gave one to her before raising his. ‘To getting reacquainted.’
‘To us,’ she murmured, clinking his glass softly and hoping he could read how much she looked forward to it in her eyes.
‘You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.’ He sat next to her on the sofa and sipped his wine. ‘And I can’t believe we’ve bumped into each other again after all this time.’
‘I didn’t believe in fate, until now.’
He placed a hand on her thigh and she gulped half her wine. ‘I wanted to get in contact so many times after we ran into each other on your farm, but I didn’t want to pressure you, especially after you made it clear that’s where you belonged.’
Ferne had never belonged on Mac’s farm and it had taken her thirty years to realise it.
‘I regret not leaving with you,’ she blurted, then tipped the remainder of the wine down her throat. Not because she needed false courage, but because the burn of alcohol would loosen her vocal cords to the point of no turning back. ‘I should’ve.’
‘You don’t get to our age without having regrets.’ He squeezed her thigh and removed his hand, leaving her craving his touch.
‘I’m six years older than you, so that gives me a head start on the regrets.’
‘It’s not a competition.’ His smile never failed to make her heart pound. ‘My biggest regret was letting you go first time around.’
‘As I recall, I didn’t leave you much choice. I was the one who ended our relationship.’
‘But I could’ve fought harder for us.’
He could have, but it wouldn’t have made a difference.
Back then, Ferne craved stability, a solid future far removed from her childhood.
Taj had been a wild spirit intent on exploring the country and beyond, reluctant to put down roots in any place for too long.
His transient lifestyle bugged her as much as his ability to flit from one job to the next.
While she’d loved him fiercely, she couldn’t imagine living her life like that, so she’d made a choice. Followed logic rather than her heart.
And look where logic had got her: tied to a man who provided the stability at the cost of her happiness.
Not wanting to rehash the past and put a dampener on the evening, she said, ‘How long have you been in Melbourne for?’
‘Three years.’
‘That must be some kind of record for you.’
‘I like the city. It’s eclectic.’
‘Considering this is my first week here and I’ve been stuck inside mostly.’ She pointed to her walking boot. ‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘We’ve got plenty of time to explore once you’re more mobile.’
‘You’re planning on seeing me again, huh?’
He scooted closer to murmur in her ear, ‘Now that I’ve found you again, you won’t get rid of me easily.’
The faintest scent of juniper tickled her nose, an underlying note of the body wash he’d always favoured, and she inhaled, turning her head so their lips were a breath apart.
He didn’t move, giving her time to decide if this was what she wanted.
This kind, gentle man had always been considerate of her feelings.
Even on the farm, when she’d kissed him, torn between her yearning for him and her guilt at potentially ruining her life, he’d sensed her mortification at breaking her marriage vows, and had ended the kiss, giving her time to think about what she truly wanted.
He hadn’t badgered her to leave with him, had merely given her the option, and she’d chosen to walk away from him for the second time.
She wouldn’t make the same mistake a third.
Closing the short gap between them, she pressed her lips to his, their latent chemistry needing little to ignite. As his tongue swept into her mouth, he framed her face with his hands, making her feel cherished like he always had.
Ferne had a fleeting thought that everything might not function the way it used to given her age and the length of time since she’d last had sex, but Taj eased her worries with his hands and his mouth and his body, bringing her back to life.